


Secrets

by Red_Tigress



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag to 2.04 (Emilie), Gen, Spoilers for Season 2 up through 2.04, Written post-2.04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Tigress/pseuds/Red_Tigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from 2.04 (Emilie) and what might have been going through Porthos' head after the events of the first few episodes of Season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I'm SUPER frustrated at Porthos being essentially ignored by the other characters despite being injured, kidnapped, and trying to learn his own history. I think it's just lazy on the writer's part (in an effort for more torch-lit villain scenes as one of my favorite commentators pointed out) but I hope that this results in some angsty Porthos feels by the end. This is just one step in correcting that. Leave some love if you like it, I'll probably be doing more...as always you can find me on tumblr at redtigress.

Porthos clutched the letter about General Du Foix’s legacy in his hands, watching Treville leave. He glanced briefly towards the courtyard, his first instinct to run and ask Aramis or Athos their advice. But he caught a glimpse of them whispering in hushed conversation across the courtyard. Aramis ran his hand through his hair in dismay, before going to the stables, presumably to get his horse and ride back out to Emilie’s camp.

 

Porthos wasn’t sure if the whispering had to do with Emilie or not, but even before she arrived Aramis had become more and more distant to him, while he and Athos conferred often. It hurt that Aramis didn’t seek to confide in him anymore. And now Treville was lying to his face about what Porthos judged to be the most important aspect of his life.

 

Porthos looked back down over the men he thought he knew, the men he trusted, and had never felt more alone.

 

His leg gave a slight twinge from the wound that was now a few days old. It still stung from time to time, though not as much as the sting of waking up alone after he had been treated. Normally Aramis would have fussed over him for days. This past week Aramis had hardly been able to be found.

 

The worst part was, Porthos wasn’t even angry. Just disappointed. Porthos hated secrets. Secrets got people killed, or ruined relationships or just plain hurt. What had happened to that Musketeers honesty they all prided themselves on?

 

He looked down at the letter in his hands again, unable to keep the sneer off his lips. Did Treville think he was protecting him? Porthos hadn’t needed protecting since he was four and living on the streets. No one had bothered to protect him then. He hadn’t needed protecting his entire time in the Musketeers. Why was now any different?

 

Damn them all and their secrets. Porthos could feel the resentment oozing like a poison inside of him but he didn’t have the strength of will to stop it. Not right now. The Garrison suddenly felt suffocating.

 

He lept to his feet, stomping down the stairs to get his horse. On the way out of the stables, with the horse’s reins in hand, he nearly bowled over a surprised d’Artagnan. “Watch it!” he snapped at the younger man.

 

A surprised look crossed d’Artagnan’s face, and he raised his hands in apology. “I’m sorry, Porthos. I must not have been looking where I was going.” The look d’Artagnan was giving him was equal to the look someone gave a frightened, dangerous horse.

 

Porthos sighed, and spoke more softly. After all, none of this was the boy’s fault. “I’m sorry, d’Artagnan. I’m just in a bit of a rush.”

 

“It’s alright,” the other man replied. “Anything...I can help with?”

 

Porthos gave a slight smile. “No, I just need to do something. I’ll be back tonight, yeah?” He didn’t wait for d’Artagnan’s reply, instead putting his foot in the stirrup and swinging up onto his horse.

 

“Alright. Do you want me to tell the others where you’re going?” d’Artagnan asked.

 

“Doubt they’d care,” Porthos mumbled, before kicking his horse into a trot. He left the yard behind, riding...he wasn’t sure where. He briefly considered visiting Flea, but he didn’t think she’d be sympathetic to his feelings. She had always distrusted the Musketeers and even when Porthos held them in the highest standing, she never really believed him. He doubted he’d get much more from her than an “I told you so” speech.

 

As he rode along the Seine, his thoughts drifted back to what Samara had said, about the Musketeers not being his real family. At the time, he had brushed it off, but now the thought sunk its hooks into him and wouldn’t let go.

 

How could they understand? Clearly even Treville didn’t understand how important knowing something, anything, about his Father was to him. Why he had to find out what would make a man abandon his family to starvation and poverty. Maybe Treville didn’t know Porthos at all.

 

Once these thoughts started seeping into his brain, it became impossible to let them go. He wandered around Paris, stewing silently in his own frustration for hours, before finally returning to the garrison. As he stabled his horse, he saw d’Artagnan look up at him worriedly. He was sitting next to Athos and Aramis at a table in the courtyard. The other two men were talking again, and they didn’t so much as look at Porthos before Aramis was walking out again.

  
Porthos sighed, ignoring d’Artagnan’s small wave as he disappeared with his horse from view. 


End file.
